


Felix Felicis [English]

by saphique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, F/F, Felix Felicis, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Post-Graduation, Teacher-Student Relationship, witches in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique
Summary: Felix Felicis is meant for opportunities and chances. You’re wondering what would be this unattainable goal, this repressed desire carried in you, unfulfilled? What use would you find to a liquid chance, having the capacity, without pretension, to obtain anything you wish for, thanks to your intelligence and your bravery?
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 5
Kudos: 117





	Felix Felicis [English]

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Felix Felicis [French]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252620) by [saphique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphique/pseuds/saphique). 



It is the graduation, the ceremony congratulating your impeccable academician profile, also celebrating your majority. At the present day, you've taken your first step in the adulthood. Never before has a pupil achieved such a distinctive achievement, highest recognition, despite the ambushes of maturity, the aftermath of war and the tearing of friendship.

At the impending end of the ceremony, the Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, invites you to step on the podium in order to widely congratulate you with an award you've never thought of receiving. A flask of Felix Felicis. Teasing, the Headmistress murmurs that this special reward would be of no use for your upcoming career, since you can accomplish absolutely everything without magical assistance. Your success comes naturally, thanks to your astuteness, implication and experience. You are intelligent and resourceful, courageous and kind.

Professor McGonagall continues her speech about your worth while stating how it's your merits will allow you to obtain a profession you judge worthy of your value, not Felix Felicis. She encourages you to keep this bottle carefully, to allow yourself surprises and pleasure in the personal sphere.

Intimated, grateful for this gift, you express your gratitude with a warm smile and a gentle bow. The profound affection felt towards your superior is reflected in the way you openly gaze at her. Minerva is superbly dressed in an emerald and black dress, trimmed with greenish brooches, and she proudly wears her striking black witch hat. While she prefers to divulge a professional and distanced aspect, you nonetheless notice a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Still immersed in this hurried yet tender exchange on the top of the podium, you're trying to hide your blush behind the curl of your bouncing hair as you proudly walk back to your seat.

The festivities begin. Now more than ever, after the sorrow of deaths and the devastation of the fighting, students and teachers need these celebrations underlining the completed school year and the decimated dark magic.

The crowd is cheerful, some graduates are embracing each other, others light their wands and wave it towards the enchanted sky. The Great Hall is transformed into a place of celebration. The tables of the houses disappear to give way to a dance floor in the center of the room and a delicious festive buffet appears on a huge table near the Grande Porte. Many students start choreographs while others help themselves to beverages and butterbeer.

From a distance, as if you were just a spectator, you observe the behavior of your friends. Ones you haven't seen laughing for a long time, and you smile watching them feel free enough to do so. New couples are formed, animosities forgotten. The teachers distance themselves from the festivities in order to totally grant comfort to the graduates. Without hesitation, you recognize the beautiful silhouette of Professor McGonagall carefully leaving the room, her large emerald and black dress fluttering behind her passage.

Your gaze arises once again on the crowd. More than anything, you would like to live this unique experience of graduation, one that allows the passage to the adult world, a future where you have the right to be self-sufficient. But you can not concentrate because you're holding a flask of Felix Felicis and this distraction is stronger than your volition. You try to focus on the laughter reverberated between the walls, except you barely distinguish them any longer.

Felix Felicis is meant for opportunities and chances. You’re wondering what would be this unattainable goal, this repressed desire carried in you, unfulfilled? What use would you find to a liquid chance, having the capacity, without pretension, to obtain anything you wish for, thanks to your intelligence and your bravery?

The Gryffindor in you can't get rid of this obligation to persue this quest. You need to know. It is impossible to withdraw from your mind the imperative of discovering what would be the wish that would come true, if you carried to your mouth the liquid chance. Isn't there a better time than immediacy, especially when the need to know is stronger, in a fortunate atmosphere?

Deciding to discreetly move away from the place of celebration, you isolate yourself in the deserted corridor. In the distance, you hear the joyful cacophony without paying more attention. The noise fades as you fully realize what you are about to do.

The bottle is so light in your hand. If you weren't staring at the little flask, you'd be skeptical about its factual presence around your fingers.

Near is the ultimate opportunity to finally recognize what your soul desires. With your thumb, you browse the roundness of the vial. You wonder if you have to dictate a particular incantation, if preliminary preparation is required. No, it must be spontaneous, don't try to think too much, don't try to appeal to reason, it's not what this is about.

Your breathing accelerates because of anticipation and adrenaline. With a determined gesture, you uncork the bottle and you bring the opening to your lips.

That's it, the liquid flows through its container and touches your tongue, it revolves around it, fills your mouth before you swallow it.

At first, you don't feel anything except the liquid slipping in your throat. And then suddenly, all concern dissipates, all anxiety evaporates, all sweat of anticipation dries up, all the force of the universe is concentrated in your being. Unimaginable assurance and jubilant determination occupy all of your consciousness.

Love. Love is what Felix Felicis divulges. You need to live passion and affection. You want to experience the lively animation of love, the eager exchanges, caressing hands and kissing lips, female thighs entwined against your hips, breasts in the palm of your hands. Incessant, generous, wet strokes rolling between your fingers, long hair tangled with yours and laughs of pleasure. Your imagination uses separate pieces and manages to assemble a global portrait of a specific woman, an extraordinary person. You also see the comfort, marital well-being in eternity, with stacks of books, steaming cups of tea, scrolls and discoveries, walks in the autumn rain, generous kisses, soft and wrinkled hands, bursts of laughter and especially, you see the face of Minerva McGonagall.

The magic of existence pushes you naturally, without thinking and with confidence towards the corridor of the Gargoyle, in the tower, leading you to the door of the Headmistress. In front of the massive statue, you pronounce a word you previously unknown, and the password is accepted. You let yourself be guided to the top, and in front of the director's office door, you quietly enter, feeling the permissions being attributed.

To your relief, you find Minerva McGonagall standing in the center of the room, as if she were waiting for you. However, her face expresses a sweet confusion. Her eyes seem to ask how you were able enter without knowing the password, but most of all, she wonders why you're here. But her mouth hides a timid smile.

"What a surprise to see you here, Miss. Granger," her voice is so pleasant to hear, as always. "As much as I'm thrilled by your visit, shouldn't you be enjoying the evening of your graduation?"

She worries about you, as always. Comically, maybe she thinks you're just coming for some optional reading or even a job at the college?

Her long hair is no longer tied, they cascade around her shoulders. You are hypnotized by her beauty, by her posture, by her individuality.

"I much prefer to be here, with you, Minerva," your answer is sincere, with the tone reserved for confessions.

Without hesitation, with grace and a touch of seduction, you approach warmly towards the Headmistress, who isn't moving, even if you walk closer, closer, closer, even more closer than allow the conveniences, until all of a sudden, you are so adjacent to each other that you feel her breath tickling your cheeks. Minerva is frozen and her breathing becomes slightly uneven, taken aback by an emotion without name. You notice her chest increase and decrease.

Staring into her confused gaze, you slowly reveal the flask of Felix Felicis, now empty of its content. Hurriedly, understanding flashes in the eyes of the older witch.

"Here's where the liquid chance guided me, Minerva," you confess as tears of excitement fill your eyes, overwhelmed.

In order to prove that it is true, Minerva takes the bottle to observe it more carefully. Finding it is indeed empty, she sighs with desolation by placing it on the desk behind her.

"Oh, Hermione, you didn't have to use your gift tonight, you still have a whole life to use it," she seems openly disturbed, as if you had just wasted a precious present.

"And what if I wanted my life to start now, at this instant? You know why I'm here," you comment hastily. You moisten your lips by staring at Minerva's, who remains silent and perplexed. Her cheeks have shades of pink.

"Why do I currently have the certainty that we are exactly at the right place, at the right time, under the right circumstances?" you mention as a rhetorical question. "It's the universe that wanted this and it's you who proposed it."

This new, unshakable confidence increases the rhythm of your heartbeat. You think Minerva hears your heart struggling through your chest, or maybe it's hers that you overhear.

Minerva unveils a smile never seen in the past. It is a smile of renunciation, a relaxation of rigidity, a gesture of pure bliss, knowing too well that it is useless to fight against Felix Felicis, seeing that it's time to accept the reality of your hearts singing the same song.

And now you raise your head slightly to approach your mouths. The power of Felix Felicis is at work, because when your lips touch those of Minerva, you feel the outbreak of multicolored fireworks in your being, which makes you moan with pleasure.

You love the pressure of her soft, wet lips against yours. You feel every movement and pressure change. Your heads are swimming on the wave of the delight of your tongues. Your bodies are getting closer and sinking to each other. You feel her chest pressing against yours, and the decorative pins on her dress hurt a little against your clavicle but for nothing in the world you'd stop kissing her.

You breathe through this kiss while applying more and more passion to your mouths. You are overcome by the tastes of Minerva, by the sweetness of her embrace, by the contact of her saliva, by her hair that touches your cheeks. You breathe hard through the nose and you manage to distinguish hints of her perfume. Your arms embrace your bodies, hers around your shoulders, yours around her waist that you discover over the layers of her clothes.

Sadly, Minerva who interrupts your embrace by putting a distance between your bodies. She carries a trembling hand to her mouth, either to preserve the sensation of your lips, or to signal a regret. Fearing that it is remorse, you hasten to talk to her, to explain to her, to confess to her couldn’t be confessed beforetime.

"Minerva, I'm in love with you, I didn't have the chance to speak to you so frankly before, and without Felix Felicis, I may not have found the courage to confess, first of all to myself and then to you," you gently join a hand against hers, the one trembling over her own mouth.

Carefully, you withdraw her quivering hand, proving that there is no invitation for shame, and you lend a kiss on the back of her fingers. You tenderly look at her and you notice that her lips are flushed and wet, and it makes you smile.

"You are so beautiful, Minerva, so intelligent, so grandiose, so brave ..." your confessions are interrupted by delight, finally experiencing the happiness of confessing what was dormant in the depths of you. Tears accumulate in your eyes before beading discreetly on your cheeks.

"Oh, Hermione, my dear Hermione, I'm so old ..." Minerva seems so apologetic. She takes your hand, brings it to her mouth, kissing each of your joints, as if this distraction made her forget her old age.

"And I, so young, aren’t we a perfect combination of knowledge and vitality - experience and will?" Your wise words resound in the room like an enchantment, and that has the desired effect, a reassuring encouragement.

"By offering me the flask of Felix Felicis, you opened the door to our eternity," your words are weighed, poised. A promise that is sincerely reflected in the tone of your voice. You slip your fingers into her thick, smooth hair. Minerva is speechless, she looks at you caressing her hair without responding, except for blushing.

"I never imagined..." she confesses, trembling with emotion. They both could be daydreaming.

For some reason that you attribute to liquid luck, you can’t completely have confidence in this statement. Defiant, displaying a mischievous allure, you dare to deny her harmlessly.

On the tip of your toes, you lean over to her left ear to whisper a question.

"Oh, I'm not sure, Minerva. Maybe, deep within, you were dreaming about the same outburst?"

Instead of being vexed or confused, Minerva McGonagall seems to be fighting her inner reasoning. Her face alternates between rapture and negation, and it is the breath of your laughter against her cheek that helps her to confess. You kiss her neck, her ear, her temple.

“I…I don’t, I…maybe,”

She nods first with difficulty, and as your body gets closer to hers, she agrees with agitation. Her confession is an invitation to continue your embrace.

"You're not my teacher anymore, are you, Minerva?"

With speed, Minerva nods negatively, eyes begging, staring at your lips, hoping for hers. Having obtained the desired answer and consent, you embrace her for a second and wonderful time. And you are passionately reeling in each other's arms, learning the reaction of your beings orbiting each other, in the center of the gravity of eternity.


End file.
